WHEN YOU WENT TO THE FAIR 
ing crowds, to other times and other fair 
days. What a grand sight was that first 
merry-go-round, what fine music it made! 
And the toy balloons, and the whistles that 
could be made to sing like a bird! Of 
course, your enjoyment of them had been 
largely contemplative—your visit had not 
been adequately financed to permit of your 
spending more than a few nickels. And 
you must not spend money foolishly, you 
had been well taught. Why, don’t you re- 
member the time when your father gave 
you a quarter to spend at the fair, and when 
you brought home fifteen cents of it, what a 
brave fellow you were! That fifteen cents— 
now let’s see, didn’t you buy a setting of 
duck eggs the next spring, by adding a dime 
you got at Christmas? And those ducks! 
They would have taken the first prize at 
the fair the next fall, only . But that is 
digressing. 
Do you remember how wonderful were 
the various exhibits in the Exhibition Build- 
ing, at those earlier fairs? There were the 
really wonderful things. Why, there was 
once a booth where a man made things of 
glass, right while you stood watching him— 
glass birds and pigs and things. And he 
had there a magnificent toy ship all made of 
glass—masts, spars, rigging and all! And 
wasn’t it in that same building that you 
first saw printing done? You had always 
wondered and wondered how the lines in 
your school books were printed, and there 
you saw a man “setting up” the type, and 
a boy was operating a printing press that he 
pedaled with one foot while he ‘‘fed” 
the blank sheets of paper into the press with 
his right hand and took them out, printed, 
with his left. Advertisements, he was print- 
ing, telling about the new weekly news- 
paper and its job-printing establishment. 
Progressive of them, now, wasn’t it ? 
And so, as you thought back, you realized 
the immense educational value of the 
county fairs. Why, the time you _ got 
separated from your folks and, failing to 
find the rig where your father had left it— 
he, in the meantime, having taken it down- 
town to the mill for a bag of flour, so he 
wouldn’t have to stop on the way home— 
didn’t you learn a lesson, though? You got 
home in time to open the gate for them as 
they came driving up behind you. Pretty 
good time you made, for a little chap, and 

207 
you did well to find your way, you heard 
them say. But you didn’t tell them how 
often you ran and how you had cried for 
the greater part of those long five miles, five 
miles of gathering darkness and growing 
terror to you, until you turned into the 
familiar road that brought you home. 
Dear me, those were great fair days, 
when you were a little shaver. And while 
you had been dreaming of them, your girl— 
why, gosh darn it, she had gone to see a 
side show with another fellow! But no, she 
was loyal—of course, she was. She and the 
other fellow’s girl had merely been to have 
their fortunes told—such beautiful fortunes 
—and so the laugh was on you. 
Yet with all the happiness of those days, 
who can tell what the mills of the gods were 
grinding out? Maybe over some trifling 
occurrence a lifelong feud between families 
or individuals was started. And who knows 
the real pain suffered by a deep-natured boy 
or girl who was slighted by one from whom 
loyalty was expected? Perhaps you can 
recall romances of the most delightful turn 
which had their inception then; and so also 
you may remember some of those unspoken 
tragedies. 
When the sun sank low in the west, some 
one warned you it was time to start for home. 
The fact that there was a fine evening drive 
ahead helped to dispel your regret at leaving 
the fair behind. It was, indeed, a wonderful 
trip home. The air was cool and bracing, 
and your horse was full of nerve. It was fine 
just to watch the night come on. The shad- 
ows were not black, only gray, and the 
mountains grew purple in the distant hori- 
zon. Dark, velvety clouds, the like of which 
you have never seen since, fringed the spot 
where the sun went down. Of a sudden the 
hills and mountains disappeared altogether, 
and in an instant it was night. But soon 
there were a million stars to tell you that 
there is no night. 
Let those who are city born and bred 
smile if they choose at the simple delight of 
the country folk in the attractions to be 
found at the real, old-fashioned, county fair. 
To you who have experienced those delights 
in your unsophisticated youth the memories 
of them are all tinged with a beautiful, 
golden hue; and though you may laugh now 
at the cheap and gaudy surroundings, it is 
the kind of laughter that brings tears. 
